


The Peculiar Bouquet of Forget-Me-Nots and the Boy Trying to Remember

by greensaleen



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Insomnia, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Other, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 11:44:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3326192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greensaleen/pseuds/greensaleen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ashton Irwin can't remember the love of his life. Some things are crystal clear, some things are a blur. He's losing his mind trying to find the one thing that kept him sane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Peculiar Bouquet of Forget-Me-Nots and the Boy Trying to Remember

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first 5sos fic, so I apologize for it's mediocracy. It's set in high school, but not necessarily when the boys were in high school. But please enjoy my loves. (Also I now realized this could have a big reference to Amnesia but it's literally all a coincidence.)

   With shaky hands Ashton digs through the cluttered closet in his room, absentmindedly tossing frivolous items to the side in search of one thing. From the corner of his eye he spots the edge of a leather-bound notebook. He quickly yanks it out from under the pile of crap piled on top of it, and like a Jenga tower, it all comes crashing down. Ashton ignores the whole debacle and shuts the closet door, gripping the notebook tightly, not taking his eyes off of it.

   He sits down and places the notebook on top of the loose papers that litter his desk. Grabbing a nearby pen, with wobbly handwriting, he starts. He lets the words flow out of him without much thought.

    **I'm writing this down because I know I am losing my mind. I don't know what's happening, but I want it to stop. It feels like only a few days ago I held your waist. Closed blinds, in the comfort of my room. Your face a** **silhouette, your breath warm against my neck. But I don't know what's wrong with me babe. I can't fucking remember things about you. I know you smell like sea salt and your favourite flowers are forget-me-nots, but fuck, I want to remember your name, not the stupid plants. I want to remember the colour of your eyes, they were so lovely and deep. I love running my fingers through your brown hair, or was it blue? _Fuck._ I'm so sorry darling. I'm trying to remember. _Where did you go?_ You disappeared on me. _Why did you leave? We were so in love._ I love you, god I do. Please come back, I want so badly to remember.**

Tears flow out from Ashton's bloodshot eyes. They roll down his cheek and drip down his chin. The tears splatter across the page, causing the ink to bloom and mix slightly. Frustrated, Ashton slams the notebook shut. He wipes his puffy eyes as he tucks his knees under his chin and wraps his arms around his calves. On his desk chair he rocks slightly back and forth, distracting himself. _I'm losing my fucking mind._ His breathing is sharp and fast, the ringing in his ears, clashing with the beating of his heart. He stares at the lamp on his table until his vision dances with spots. Fireworks. That's what he calls them. Except, now they're more like explosives sending figurative shrapnel into his mind.

    _I can't take this anymore._ He gets up from his previous position and heads over to the pile of meds on his dresser. He grabs his Eszopiclone, some insomnia medication he's been on for awhile, and pops four pills in his mouth, and swallows them dry. He knows he's only supposed to take one pill a night, but he doesn't want to spend another minute awake. His brain clouds up in seconds as he stumbles for the bed, He doesn't even bother to get under the covers as he passes out facedown. _I hope I don't wake up tomorrow._

 

***

   But he does, at 7:02 his mother knocks softly on his bedroom door, but it's loud enough to wake Ashton. He groans in displeasure. His mother enters quietly, there's always a look of concern on her face, Ashton hates it, but he knows he's the one causing it. _It can't be easy having a fuck-up for a son._ She sits on the edge of his bed and places her hand gently on Ashton's shoulder. He groans again, muffled by the pillow. He sharply shifts his position so that he is now facing up and slams the pillow on to his face. "What?" he asks groggily, his voice is rough.

   "Sweetie you're going to the new school today," his mother speaks to Ashton. After his mom found out Ashton was having breakdowns in school, and ditching classes because of the stress, she decided to move him to an easier school that was closer to home. But Ashton knew that no school in the world would cure his screwed up mind.

   "I don't want to go," Ashton replied simply. He wrapped himself in his blankets.

   " _Ashton_ ," his mom repeated in the "mom-voice", which caused Ashton to reluctantly get out of bed and head to his desk. Upon seeing this, his mother quietly left the room. As she closed the door, he heard the muffled giggly shrieks of little seven year old Harry as he ran down the stairs followed by annoyed yells from his sister. Ashton smiled a dimpled smile.  _Well at least two of her kids are normal._ He looked at himself in the mirror on his desk. He had bags under his eyes and his hair was a complete curly mess. He didn't even bother changing out of last nights clothes as he grabbed his backpack and his notebook and trotted down the stairs.

***

   Ashton was right in his prediction that this school was equally shit. He spends his time trying to find his classes, but knowing it's worthless because he's just going to stop going them when the workload piles up, and the depression and anxiety kicks in. But he hated worrying his mom, so he just dealt with it. _I want to die._ But he just lays his head on the cold surface of the desks. _Too tired to learn, too sober to sleep._  Instead of focusing in class he just spaces off and writes in his notebook.

    **Hey, it's me again, Ashton. I know you'll never get these letters, but it just makes me feel better when I write them. My life is utter shit without you, and it wasn't like I'm having a whiny high school heartbreak, I mean it was shit before you came into it and it's shit now that you're gone. I know people aren't supposed to be medicine, but I guess you were mine, and I guess I fucking overdosed on you. I do that often, the overdosing. But you were my favourite drug. God what the hell am I talking about, _you are a person_. You're beautiful okay? You're everything I could ever ask for, I know I'm being ** **selfish, but I want you back. Oh god please tell me you want me back too. No one knows me like you, no one knows how broken I am inside. No one**

 "Ashton?" a teacher's voice breaks his stream of writing. He whips his head up quickly.

   "Yeah?" Ashton replies awkwardly. At his old school, none of the teachers even bothered to call on him anymore.

   "The answer please," the teacher was a middle-aged man, slightly rounding and drastically balding.

   Ashton sighed, "Don't know it, sorry."

   The teacher furrowed his brows, "Next time young man, pay attention, you're not creating a good first-impression." Ashton rolls his eyes and slouches deeper into his chair. A couple of guys snicker in the back and he turns to glare at them. They awkwardly coughed to badly cover up the giggles and go back to copying down notes. He presses his nails into his palm with so much force, that they leave bruises and cuts. But it helps calm his nerves. He's tired and cranky because he forgot to take his other meds, as usual. He grits his teeth and tries to block out the rest of the world, with not much success. The only thing that can completely occupy his mind, is the one thing that will tear his sanity to the ground. _Where did you go?_  He thinks for the rest of the class.

Finally the bell rang. He gets up and quickly darts out of the room. He exits the school and starts walking home with a quick stride. He is brisk and walks against the cool breeze which sends shivers down his exposed arms. He crosses them and tries to rub warmth into his arms. He's far enough from the school so that he's not surrounded by a swarm of people, he looks back to see the people growing smaller with each footstep. But as he turns his head back around to face forward, he sees it. His heart stops. His breath hitches. His pupils dilate and he is momentarily paralyzed.

   There, tied to a tree with pink ribbon, is a wilting bouquet of none other than the pale blue forget-me-nots.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys so if you didn't notice, I never used specific physical traits to describe the person, because it may be you! Anyways, thank you so much for reading this, I love you all.


End file.
